


Auditing Bros

by Stisaac



Category: Parks and Recreation, parks and rec
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 22:20:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5022736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stisaac/pseuds/Stisaac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>100 one-shot challenge focused on what is literally the best friendship between Ben and Chris. </p><p>AU where they meet as a pair of unusually young middle schoolers and go from here. One-shots are not in chronological order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in the middle of a really intense rewatch of Parks and Recreation. I love each and every character and their relationships with one another dearly. But for a reason I don't quite understand, Ben and Chris have stolen the show. So due to the fact that my obsession with them has exceeded the amount of screen time they get together, I have once again turned to the world of fan fiction.

Ben is eleven when they first meet. Chris is twelve years, four months, one week, and three days. At least, that's what he tells Ben when they first meet in the office. It's Ben's first day at a new school and the guidance counselor handed him off to Chris as soon as she possibly could. 

"He's our aide here at the office," she says, her white smile gleaming unnaturally. "He likes to show new students around, don't you, Chris?"

Chris, rocking back and forth, nods his head so enthusiastically that Ben finds himself thinking of a bobble head doll. "It is literally one of my favorite things to do here at Jefferson Middle School!" 

He's perpetual motion and frankly, Ben is exhausted just looking at him. But he's grateful too. Chris is a little older than he is, but they're both young for middle school students. There's safety in numbers. Ben likes numbers. He likes math. It's always the same. Reliable. Familiar. At his old school, his peers labeled him as a "freak" and a "geek" and the odds are that things won't be very different here. But maybe. . . just maybe. . . he could have a friend. 

"Ready, Ben Wyatt?"

Ben blinks at Chris' sudden closeness. He shifts half a foot backwards, a nervous smile on his face. "Okay, Chris Traeger."

Chris actually claps his hands together and laughs in delight. "Then let's get to it! You're going to love it here, of that I am 100% positive!" He seems to pause for a brief instance, countenance sobering a little as he lowers his voice, sounding quite serious. "I'll have you know that I am right nearly all the time. Rest assured, Ben Wyatt!"

"Er," Ben glances at the counselor, but she just shrugs. Great. He tries to ignore the obvious poor judgement on the part of the school in hiring such an apathetic person to counsel confused youths. Chris, though fairly intimidating with his energy and air that just breathes positivity, seems harmless. "Thanks."

"You're welcome!" Chris surprises Ben by taking a hold of his arm. He uses his free arm to make a sweeping gesture as they step outside of the office. "This, as you might have guessed, is the hallway!"

Ben stifles a snort of laughter. "It's nice," he says appreciatively. And it sort of is. Brightly lit and wide, the lockers neatly lined up against the wall opposite them. The clock over the office doorway is perfectly centered. "It looks well put together."

"Oh it is!" Chris leads him down the hallway, talking as they go. "The placement of doorways and lockers allow for minimum crowding of the hallways and the lockers themselves are fairly easy to keep clean!"

"Clean?" Ben repeats, a little confused. "Do they get dirty?"

Chris stops so fast that Ben treads on his heels. "Ben!" He exclaims, sounding appalled and concerned all at the same time. He whirls around and whips a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer out of his back pocket. "Why, didn't you know that lockers can quickly become infested with all sorts of germs? Think of how many people are accidentally brushing up against them or even purposefully touching them! They are literally a breeding ground for all sorts of diseases." He shudders a little and squirts some of the liquid in his hands, rubbing his palms together vigorously. "I get bothered just by thinking about it!"

"You know I was born with a rare blood disorder," Chris says conversationally. "The doctors didn't expect me to live. Yet, here I am. Twelve years, four months, one week, and three days later. That's because as soon as I became of the miracle that I am, I have set out to take care of my body as much as I possibly can. Eating right and exercising daily are only part of maintaining my near perfect health. Maintaining hygiene is crucial and this includes protecting myself from the germs that threaten me every waking moment. My body is a microchip and a single grain of sand could utterly destroy it. Hand sanitizer?"

Ben is still trying to wrap his mind around Chris' unexpected rant that he doesn't answer at first. Only when he feels a cool substance touch his hand does he find his voice. "Oh. Um, thanks."

Chris gives him a huge smile. "You're very welcome, Ben. Ben Wyatt." Apparently satisfied with their cleanliness, he snaps he bottle shut. "However, I do apologize. I've spent much of our tour talking about myself. Please. Tell me something about you."

Their tour has consisted of three steps outside of the office, but Ben refrains from pointing this out. It's too bad there's not much to talk about when it comes to him. "Well. I just moved here from Michigan with my mom. She and my dad are recently divorced and-"

"Oh, Ben." Chris frowns. "I'm so sorry. My parents divorced when I was six."

"So you much know how it feels." Ben smiles wryly. Actually, he's pretty sure that he's taking the divorce better than most kids his age. A part of him is actually relieved. At least they won't fight anymore. It'll be more peaceful. 

"I do know how it feels," Chris tells him. "And may I say that it will get better, Ben. The best thing to do is keep moving forward. Don't let the past define you. That never works. For instance, if I let my rare blood disorder as a baby define me, I would not be right here with you today!"

Ben feels his smile slip a bit. If he were to be perfectly honest, Chris' self-absorbed optimism is quickly beginning to irk him. Even when they're talking about Ben, they're really talking about Chris. "Right."

Chris, big surprise, doesn't seem to pick up on Ben's drop in enthusiasm. "Anyway, my class starts soon so let me show you to yours!"

So much for the tour. Ben rolls his eyes as he hands his schedule over to Chris. Not that it really matters. This school may be nice than the one he went to back in Michigan, but it's still a middle school. Small. This time next week, he'll be able to find his way around it blindfolded. Not that he would have to. That would be ridiculous. 

"Ah!" Chris shouts, startling Ben. "Look at that! "Survey of Mathematics! That's my next class! We're classmates! Clapping a hand on Ben's shoulder, he stares unabashedly into the other boy's eyes. "This is literally the greatest news I've heard today! I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Ben Wyatt."

To each his own. Uncomfortable, Ben drops his gaze and shuffles away so that Chris' hand slides off his shoulder. As far as first (and maybe only) friends go, he could do worse than Chris Traeger. Right?

Their footsteps echoing in the empty hallway are drowned out by the bell ringing. Doors open, slamming into the walls, and a sea of students suddenly pour out into the hall with Ben and Chris. No one even bothers to look at them, so focused on their own intentions of getting to the next class on time. Or, maybe they're all just too busy talking to one another rather than him. 

As Chris takes off, with the spirit of a great adventurer rather than a middle schooler, Ben trails behind him and silently weighs his options. They're pretty straightforward. No friends or one suffocating friend.

Chris is everything that Ben isn't. Optimistic where Ben is realistic. Sociable where Ben is shy. Confident where Ben is awkward. Talkative where Ben is quiet. It could be annoying or it could be easy. It's not like Ben would have to do any work. Chris could do all the talking. All the cheerleading. He's weird even by Ben standards. Ben might even pass for normal next to him. And there's still the indisputable fact that no matter how different they might be, there's still safety in numbers. 

Ben likes those odds.


	2. Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is loosely based off of the episode where Ben, Ron, and Chris all get food poisoning from the mini calzones. There is no mention of Ron because though I love him dearly, he would have interrupted the sticky, sappy bromance that worked its way into this piece. Basically Ben can be just as melodramatic as Chris sometimes. 
> 
> Warnings: contains mentions of food poisoning and all the nasty that comes along with food poisoning.

It was highly probable that he was dying. He was very likely going to die. Maybe he was already dead. Probably. Likely. Maybe. Ben wasn't sure. The only thing he was sure of was that he had never felt so terrible in his entire life. Is this was dying felt like?

It felt like his stomach had turned into a paper shredder and was consuming him from the inside out. Every movement, even blinking it seemed, set off the pain though staying still didn't really help either. Nothing helped. Using the bathroom or vomiting brought relief that lasted temporarily (one to three second exactly) and then he was placed directly back into the hell that was food poisoning. He never wanted to eat again. 

The mere thought of food turned his stomach violently and he managed to twist and roll himself over to a nearby trash can just in time to lose bodily fluids he didn't know he possessed. Surely he had to be empty right now having purged himself numerous times in both ways. 

"Ben Wyatt."

Chris' voice was a mere whisper, lacking it's normal vivacious energy and positive vibe. The only reason Ben knew it was Chris in the first place was because the two of them had been sprawled on the floor together for approximately three and a half hours, only moving when their bowels compelled them to do so. 

"Chris Traeger." 

It was how they had been communicating these last few hours together. Speaking each other's names to communicate both sympathy and concern. Replies were assurance that neither of them had died from the intense stomach shredding just yet, though it had to only be a matter of time. 

Ben heard Chris' body dragging itself across the floor. He had not the strength to turn his head nor ask if his friend had suddenly turned into a zombie so he simply lay there and waited while the dragging became nearer and nearer. 

Chris' fingers were fumbling for the trash can and at first Ben thought he was going to throw up. That would make sense since it had been a near constant chain reaction. Ben throwing up would trigger Chris' nausea and vice versa. It was a never ending, truly vicious cycle. 

A shadow loomed over Ben and he cracked open an eyelid to see Chris standing, or rather crouching, over him. "Wh-" he slurred, leaving the rest up for interpretation. 

Chris merely flipped his head to the bathroom, the indication not quite clear to Ben's fuzzy mind. It wasn't immediately apparent what he was trying to do until he started backsliding towards the bathroom, trash can in hand. 

"Nnnooo," Ben succeeded in getting another word out and lifted a finger. The smell in the trash can was nearly unbearable and he didn't have it in him just yet to clean it out himself, but there was no way he was going to let Chris do it for him. 

"Ssssss," Chris slumped over the trash can and dry heaved, forcing Ben to close his eyes and imagine fluffy white kittens so he didn't gag himself. "Mwh." 

Ben was not entirely convinced that the zombie apocalypse had not then descended upon them right there in that very room. Chris certainly sounded like one of the monsters from The Walking Dead. And while he couldn't tell if it was because he was desperate to stop feeling so horrendous, Ben decided at that moment that being eaten alive by his best friend wasn't the worst way to go. 

The shuffling grew dimmer as Chris slowly made his way into the bathroom with the trash can in tow. Ben had enough dignity and conscience to feel incredibly guilty but he could do nothing about it. If they both survived, he promised himself, he would repay Chris. 

He heard the water go on and tried not to think about his bladder. His last shred of dignity would surely be compromised if he were to wet himself like a toddler. He tried thinking about something else. Anything else. Numbers. Taxes. Leslie. 

Leslie. A sleepy smile stretched across Ben's face. He had no idea what his fiancé was up to at the moment but at least she wasn't here, caught up in the stench and mess of the unfortunate calzones. Knowing her, she was probably off campaigning for that park of hers. Accomplishing a lot more than he and Chris were put together. 

The thumping and dragging was returning as Chris finished in the bathroom. Ben made himself turn towards the sound, figuring facing his friend was the least he could do. "Than-" he started out, only to be slapped in the face with a cool, wet cloth. 

Too wet. Immediately water began to slip down his forehead and curl around his ears and neck. It soaked into the collar of his shirt, making a shiver roll up his spine. Still. It felt good. Clean. The cloth covered his eyes too, helping to shut out the light that was way too bright anyway. 

Chris was attempting to take care of him despite also being sick. Ben peeked through the slit between the cloth and the floor to see that Chris was in very close proximity, wearing another cloth on his own face. He reached out, bridging the two inch gap between himself and his friend with a pathetic amount of effort. "You 'kay?" he murmured, feebly patting Chris' ear. 

"Microchip," was Chris' reply, which made Ben feel even worse and somehow even worried. Chris was more than a bit of a hypochondriac and admitted this himself after he had been in therapy for some time. But after so many years of listening to him talking about his body being a microchip and how a single grain of sand could destroy it, Ben would be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little paranoid on his friend's behalf. Besides, he had never, in the thirty years he has known Chris, seen him this sick. 

"Be 'kay," he whispered, wanting to reassure Chris but not wanting to dismiss his fears altogether. He wasn't sure if he were talking to Chris or himself though. 

"Mhm," Chris grunted. 

The silence that stretched between them felt uncomfortable and left Ben alone with his paranoid thoughts. What if Chris really was dying and Ben was too busy laying on the floor in a puddle of self pity? Was Chris' last act really to be exerting himself in an attempt to help Ben feel better? As melodramatic as that sounded, Ben had no one to tell him to shut up. His mind was running away with desperate, silly thoughts. Was this how Chris felt all the time?

Ben slid his finger off Chris' ear and inched it down until he found his hand instead. Feeling silly but at the same time justifiably fearful he linked their pinky fingers together. "Don' die," he mumbled faintly. "Hundre' fifty years, 'member?"

He felt Chris shake a little next to him and smiled. Chris was laughing. That meant everything was going to be okay. Who said grown men who had been lifelong best friends couldn't make a pinky promise over food poisoning? 

The stomach cramps had subsided just enough for him to hope that the end was near. Not the scary, dark, permanent end, but the end to this misery. A return to normal and good feelings. Human feelings. Ben lifted the cloth from his eyes to meet Chris' gaze. "Do I look as bad as you?" he asked, cringing at Chris' grey, sweaty, miserable face. 

Chris actually smirked a little and flicked at Ben's face, missing him completely. He stared at his hand for a short time, briefly contemplating how he could have missed such a close target. "Ben Wyatt." he said, sounding more like himself than he had all day. 

Ben found himself grinning too, even as he felt his stomach roll uneasily once more. 

"Chris Traeger."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I baked an apple pie while writing this. I'm not quite sure how I feel about that, but with a little luck both will turn out all right. 
> 
> In case you're wondering, the next chapter will be titled Abandoned and I have no idea what I'm going to do with it. I am however open to suggestions. And I feel like I should go on record by saying that while I started this intending to focus on the friendship, I am not counting out romance all together. There will be few if any, and unrelated to this rest, but sometimes the b in bromance fades a little for me. At the very least, some of these pieces can be read with slash goggles. 
> 
> But I'm getting ahead of myself. My plan is to just sort of sit and see where this takes me. You're welcome to come along for the ride if you wish.


	3. Abandoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N. I started this several different times. I guess it didn't help that I was pessimistic about it before I even started the first draft. I didn't know what to do and I tried some things and changed my mind and this is the end result. Here's hoping some good will come of it!
> 
> In which Chris muses about his childhood after his dad left. And how nothing is permanent and everything is temporary.

Everything ends. Stops. Runs out. Ceases. Forever is not real. Time passes, seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades, millenniums, eons, etc. As time passes, things come and go. Seasons change. Flowers bloom and then curl up in on themselves, shriveling and hiding their beauty. Leaves turn brilliant colors and then fade to an ugly brown before surrendering themselves to the ground. Snow blankets everything in a clean whiteness and then melts, leaving everything soggy. Even bread goes moldy. Beginnings are nice. Endings are pretty terrible. 

People leave. Whether they mean to or not. Chris thinks that the former is worse than the latter. Leaving when you have the choice to stay instead. . . he doesn't understand it. 

He doesn't understand how his father could be here one day and gone the next with just one index card to explain his actions. He "couldn't handle it" and was "too overwhelmed". He didn't even "recognize" himself and felt "replaced". 

Replaced by Chris. It's all Chris' fault. Chris is only seven years, nine months, three months, two weeks, and five days old. But he knows this for a fact. He's the reason his father felt overwhelmed. The "It" that Brad Traeger couldn't handle was him. Chris. Chris Traeger.

Chris doesn't understand why his dad doesn't come home at 6:03 that night, the same exact time he came home from work every single night. He doesn't understand why his mommy cries and cries and cries over that one index card that he sent home with that strange man who came to get his stuff. He reads it three times because three is his lucky and most favorite number though the other uneven numbers make his chest hurt. 

He doesn't comprehend what it really means and feels anger at his father. Anger for making mommy cry and anger for disrupting their entire dinner routine. For as long as Chris can remember, the day they brought him home from the hospital as a three year, ten month, one week, and six day old little boy, they've always eaten together. As a family. Of three. Because they weren't supposed to be a family of three. Chris was never supposed to come home. But he did so after that they were supposed to be a family of three. Not two. 

Chris' head hurts as he struggles to reason it out, but nothing ever comes of it. His confusion only grows as he stares at the dinner table where three places have been set. Three. And there's only two of them. One of the settings will remain empty and it knocks the entire table off balance. It knocks the house off balance. Everything is crooked and falling and just doesn't make sense. 

His mother is crying but she doesn't reach for him when he starts to cry too. It's like she doesn't even see or hear him. Chris doesn't want to be invisible. He flaps his hands up and down, trying to gain her attention. He wants to speak, but he doesn't know what to say. It's like all the words have left his brain and he hates it. 

He's hungry too. Really. But he table is still off balance, even more so that his mother is sitting there and it's just here. Three settings. Two people. One person seated. Chris' brain, still empty of words, gets stuck on this. Three. Two. One. Three, two, one. It's like a countdown to something no one is aware of, but certainly it's something terrible. Nothing good can come off missing people and crooked tables and the number one. One is such a lonely number. 

Chris can't tell if he's more upset by his father's absence or the uncomfortable gnawing in his stomach. He has never eaten dinner without his father, and he doesn't want to because that would make the unbalance even worse, but he's hungry and they should have eaten six minutes ago now and it's also bothering him that dinner is late. Everything is wrong, so wrong, and he wants it to stop and be right again but he doesn't know how to make that happen. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

He doesn't even realize he's screaming until his mother suddenly tells him to shut up. She takes him roughly by the arm, rougher than he likes, and drags him into his room, slamming the door between them. It's so sudden and unexpected and just not supposed to happen. Like everything else that's happened tonight. The countdown has finished and it feels like a bomb has gone off in his family. 

If his father's departure was sudden, his mother's was a lot more gradual. Chris lost her by degrees. 

Sometimes he thinks that if he could see them again, he would apologize for everything. He was sorry that he had given them such a stressful life from the moment that he was born. It added up. His illness that brought bills along with their tears and fears. His "quirks" emerged soon after his release from the hospital. The flapping to stimulate himself in a stressful situation or get attention. The overly enthusiastic clapping and rocking back and forth. The obsession with straight and even numbers and lines. The fear of mixed colors and messy food. That was only the tip of the iceberg.

"I can't handle you sometimes," his mother would say sometimes, like when he refused to eat macaroni and cheese because he hates yellow food. Or when his teacher at school called to have her pick him up because he was too disruptive in class. Disruptive meaning he had refused to sing "One, two, three, four, five, I caught a fish alive." because there were actually no fish involved. 

She never physically left him, but she left him in the sense that she pretended his struggles didn't exist. They became too much for her so she ignored them. She ignored him. She refused to buy the special soap that made his hands feel so clean and smell so nice. Instead, she bought the kind that made him itch "because it was cheaper.". She got angry at him whenever they were talking somewhere and he had to go back and make his steps even. She wouldn't let him switch the light off and on six times every time he walked into a room. She was impatient with his anxiety whether it was over getting sick or if people liked him or not (spoiler alert: they usually didn't).

"Why can't you just relax?" was another thing she said a lot. And "There's so much to you?" So much what? "Stop that." "Act normal." "People are looking." "You're making a scene."

"No wonder your father left."

She only said that last one once. When she was really angry at him and missing his dad. Chris had been cycling violently that day, crying because his pencil broke during a test earlier that day and he hadn't been able to finish. He had stayed distraught long after his mom picked him up (his teacher called again). She didn't talk to him for the rest of the day after she said that. 

That's why when Chris finally got to college, he never went home. He never visited even on the holidays. He never called. He never sent a text message. He never wrote a letter or an email. He may have struggled socially but he wasn't stupid. Ben asked him once and Chris told him the truth because he couldn't lie, especially to his best (only) friend. Ben invited him home after that, but Chris refused. He didn't want to damage another family. Sure, he was older and had learned a little bit about how he should behave in varying situations, but it was too risky. He was damaged goods. 

Surely it was only a matter of time until Ben left. Chris didn't want to push it. He had been best (only) friends with Ben for six years now and that was literally his greatest accomplishment. He didn't want to ruin it. when it would very likely unravel all by itself. 

He's on Christmas break right now. Ben, that is. Chris insisted that he go home and see his mother. Ben had given in very reluctantly but it was for the best. Ben's mother was nice. Ben was nice. Nice people, good people, should be together. 

Chris is by himself, trying not to think about how everything ends, even friendships, even six year friendships, even best (only) friendships. All good and wonderful and happy things. One day Ben might leave for break and he might decide to stay. He might never come back. It's bound to happen one day. Chris just isn't sure when it will happen. 

He wishes there was some way to prepare for it. 

Because nothing is permanent. 

Not even Ben. 

Everyone (probably) leaves. 

Even Ben. 

Chris don't blame him when he does. It's just a thing that he's come to accept as normal. Sometimes it feels like the only thing he can count on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N. I'm really nervous about this one. I hope it was okay.


	4. Crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ben has a crisis and Chris helps in a way only Chris could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N. I'm so sorry about the delayed opening. I'm currently working two jobs and trying to find time to balance other life stuff. Plus I wrestled quite a bit for the inspiration for this prompt but I think I like the way it came out. Happy mid-week, all!

Chris could tell that Ben was upset over something because of the way he sat at his desk. Where most people tensed up when they were feeling some kind of negative emotion, Ben was already naturally wound tight. When they were younger and in middle school, high school, and college, fellow students and teachers and professors alike were constantly telling the two of them to relax. Chris was a ceaseless movement, knees bouncing up and down, fingers drumming restlessly on whatever surface they could find. Ben was a statue (not literally of course, but he could certainly pass as one). He stared straight at the main object of his attention until the task was complete. What most people never understood was that neither of them were often very nervous. At least when it came to academics. Those came quite naturally. 

Anyway. Chris could tell that Ben was upset because he was sitting with his shoulders slumped and his wrists loose as he typed. The way "normal" (otherwise known as not them) people sat when they were relaxed and happy. Ben looked defeated. He looked like he had no goal. And that made Chris sad. 

"Ben Wyatt?"

"Hm?"

Another sign there was something wrong. Ben said "hm" in a variety of ways depending on how he was feeling. The distracted "hm" when he was working had a lift to it at the end and sometimes he even looked up at Chris. The upset "hm" was flat and Ben's eyes didn't move from his computer screen. 

"Is there. . . something wrong?" Chris proceeded carefully. It had taken years, decades (twenty-nine years, eight months, two weeks, and one day) for him to be able to pick up on Ben's moods and cues as quickly as he did just now. Handling them was still quite a struggle. Ben was always more guarded with his feelings while Chris was an open book (his therapist told him that it was important to be honest which was honestly the only easy part that came of Chris' sessions with him). 

Ben shoved his chair away from the desk and rubbed his temples. "Is it that obvious?" he asked, his voice sounding despondent. 

"You're slumped over," Chris pointed out. "Your watch is on your left wrist instead of your right. Your hair is a tad bit mussed. You have dark circles under your eyes. You passed up a calzone for lunch earlier today. You-"

"Okay, okay," Ben waved a hand, dismissing the rest of Chris' reasons (there were at least 12 more). "You got me." He fell silent, staring at Chris. He looked thoughtful, like he was choosing his words carefully, weighing his options, and deciding how much to say and what to leave out. 

"Ben, we're friends," Chris pointed out. "You can tell me anything."

Ben was still quiet. And he wasn't looking at Chris anymore. His gaze had fallen to his lap where his hands twisted together, an anxious tic he had had ever since Chris could remember. 

"Ben Wyatt." Chris wasn't sure what else he could say. He knew it wouldn't be fair to push Ben into talking if he truly was uncomfortable and not quite ready. But he also knew that Ben often required a little pushing. It was always difficult to tell when it was not enough or too much. Balance was difficult. And that made Chris uncomfortable.   
But this wasn't about Chris. 

"It's Leslie," Ben said somewhat abruptly to Chris' relief. "I want to ask her to marry me."

"Well, that's wonderful!" Chris exclaimed, feeling a surge of joy rush through him. He clapped his hands together and jumped up. Bounding across the office to where Ben was sitting, he clapped his hand on his best friend's shoulder. "I believe congratulations are in order! Wait."

He pulled himself back from throwing more unbridled enthusiasm at Ben and leaned against his desk. It wasn't adding up in his head and unfortunately this was something a calculator wouldn't fix. Chris bit his lip, uncertain of what he should say next. It was so confusing. "Isn't it wonderful?"

"I want it to be wonderful." Ben groaned and ran his hands through his hair, rendering it even more disheveled than before. "I'm just. . ."

"Having second thoughts?" Chris queried. "About Leslie? About your parents' approval? About marriage in general? About commitment? About-"

"Chris," Ben sighed in exasperation. "I'm having second thoughts, but not about any of those things. Leslie. . . Leslie is perfect. I don't care what my parents will think about her. I'm in love with her. I want to marry her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

Chris mentally ticked off his previous guesses. He couldn't think of anything else. "So?" he prompted, truly perplexed. "Ben, I'm sorry, I. . . I don't understand."

To his surprise and to add to his confusion, Ben actually smiled a little. It was a wry smile but it still felt out of place. "You wouldn't," he said almost to himself. "You have an extremely biased opinion on the matter."

"What matter?" Chris persisted. "I support marriage one hundred percent! And I happen to think that Leslie is wonderful. Between the two of you-"

"That's the problem!" Ben wrung his hands. "Me! I'm the problem, Chris! I'm having second thoughts about me! Leslie is. . . well, she's perfect like I already said. But I'm-"

"Ben," Chris said sternly. He usually didn't believe in interrupting. He found it to be extremely rude and not proper social behavior. His mother used to tell him all the time, "Stop interrupting! You have to be able to listen as well as talk. That's how you have a conversation." It was some of the better advice she had given him. But she wasn't always right. "No one is perfect." He would have certainly loved to be. "Not myself, not yourself, and not even Leslie."

 

But Ben didn't look very convinced at all. "She's as close as it gets then. And even if she isn't 100% perfect, she's better than me at least."

It saddened Chris deeply to see his friend so utterly lacking in self confidence. While he could sometimes let it distract him from the needs and feelings of others, Chris often prided himself on how much he liked. . . well, himself. He was in tip top physical condition. He was very intelligent. He was-

Forgetting about Ben. 

He sighed in frustration, but tried to mentally push it off to the side for now. He couldn't forget Ben and think about himself because he was upset that he had been thinking about himself in intending to focus on Ben. 

Or something like that. Again, it could be complicated. 

No. Ben. This was about Ben. 

Focus. 

"Ben, you are extremely luckily to have found someone like Leslie whom you love so much," he tried. "And I literally could not be happier for you. But Leslie is just as lucky. I said that there's no such thing as perfection but the both of you are so close to it that you might as well be perfect together."

Ben looked skeptical. 

Chris tried again. He wasn't very good at speaking from the heart. He liked to think and speak logically. The heart could be very confusing from time to time what with all the emotions that played a part. But he knew that even though he though Ben and Leslie together was as logical as one and one equaling two, he was certain Ben wouldn't see it like that. Ben was very logical but he could be just as emotional. Case in point: right now. 

"I've known you for most of my life, Ben Wyatt, and there has not been a second that I don't feel an overwhelming gratitude for our friendship and you. You're very intelligent, yes. But you're almost funny and kind. And selfless. And generous."

Ben still looked skeptical. This did not seem to be going as well as Chris hoped. "You're my best friend," he said, earning a grin from Chris. "You're supposed to say those things."

Chris' smile faded. Nope. Definitely not going well at all. "You're right about one thing," he said encouragingly. "We are best friends. But Ben, I'm incapable of lying. You know that." He decided to ignore Ben's raised eyebrows. "Let me give you some examples of how you're actually a good person."

"Number one. Funny. Granted, we may not have the same sense of humor, but I think the fellows at the accounting firm might agree that your talent for numerical puns is stellar."

"Number two. You're kind. Remember when we had to shut down the small business back in Muncie? Remember the owner broke down into tears the instant we- you, broke the news to her? You sat down with her and gave her tissues and encouraged her about old memories and new opportunities until she felt better."

"A little better."

"Every little bit counts," Chris said firmly. "How about when you paid Freddie Spaghetti to perform at the children's festival right here in Pawnee? That was very much out of the goodness of your own heart. We hadn't been here long and you hardly knew Leslie. I just know she'll appreciate that for the rest of her life. For the rest of your lives. Together."

"My point is this, Ben Wyatt. I knew you fell in love with Leslie probably before you even realized it yourself. You wanted to do it for her because you recognized her tenacity is such a dismal situation and you realized that she was something special. You realized that hard work and determination and passion really could beat the odds and you felt greatly encouraged by it. It makes you happy. She makes you happy. Leslie. And I know without a doubt that you make her equally happy. Why else would she have risked the job she loved so much?"

Ben was looking thoughtful and Chris consisted this an improvement from skeptical. "Let me ask you a couple of questions Ben."

"Okay."

"Do you love Leslie?"

"More than anything."

"Does she make you happy?"

"Happier than I've ever been."

"Does she love you? Do you make her happy? I think, the answer is undoubtedly yes, but what are your thoughts?"

Ben shrugged and shook his head in amazement. "I can't understand why, but yes to both of those questions."

Chris put a hand on Ben's shoulder. "Love doesn't have it be something to understand. It just has to be something we can trust. Do you trust it?"

He didn't hesitate. Ben nodded, a smile slowly spreading across his face and brightening his once dark and gloomy countenance. "I do."

"Then that's all that matters."

"Thank you, Chris." Ben told hm gratefully. "Seriously. That means a lot to me."

Crisis averted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that the ending was rather abrupt but I wanted to leave it there all the same. Chris wanted to make Ben feel better and all Ben needed was a little reminder that he's awesome sauce. What better person to help him with it than Chris? It was never about after Ben felt better. Just the mini process it took to get him to feel better. :) Thank you for reading and I'll see y'all next time!


End file.
